


Sugar, How You Get So Fly?

by Tiofrean



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Divorce, Rick Grimes is a Dancing Queen, Rick Grimes is a Tease, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 05:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14561904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: Daryl wakes up to an empty bed and music playing in the distance.Or that one fic inspired by the video to the song "Sugar".





	Sugar, How You Get So Fly?

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the vid to the song "Sugar" by Robin Schulz... I wonder if you guys can figure out the other songs! :3

Lori was impossible. Just…  _ impossible. _ She had stomped all over Rick before they got separated, and she continued stomping all over him after. Daryl couldn’t watch Rick’s beautiful, brilliant-blue eyes slowly going dull and lifeless, so he had cheered on him when Rick had finally decided to serve Lori the papers. 

And now, almost three months later, they were back home - Rick exhausted and wary, Daryl happy that this divorce mess was finally over. They tumbled into bed and fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, content to be free, and looking for some time off on the next day.

 

-&-

 

In the morning, Daryl woke up to music playing somewhere outside Rick’s house. He groaned and turned around, intent on snuggling to Rick, but the spot next to him was empty. Daryl pushed himself up on one arm and blinked blearily down at the covers - it wasn’t like Rick to wake up before him… Daryl glanced at the clock standing on the bedside table and ran his hand over his face when he spotted the time. 

Barely eight in the morning. 

Slipping his hand under the comforter, only to find it cold, Daryl started to wonder where the hell Rick was. He had had a few instances of nightmares in the last year - fucked up dreams that chased him out of the bedroom and onto his couch, but they had been less and less frequent since Daryl had moved in with him three months before. 

Curious, Daryl got up and went to investigate. 

He checked the bathroom first, but there was no sign of Rick. Then, there was the living room, the kitchen, and that little studio at the back that had become cluttered with Daryl’s camping gear and Rick’s police reports. All of them, however, were decidedly Rick-less, and Daryl frowned, absentmindedly scratching his thigh and mentally cursing those ridiculous boxers he had worn the day before to cheer Rick up. They had all those loose threads hanging off them and tickling his legs in weird places… but they also had little squirrels printed all over them, and they had managed to make Rick smile just a bit, before they had gotten all proper and had gone to the court.

Daryl briefly contemplated taking a shower and changing into something less skin-irritating - they had just crawled into bed the previous evening, not bothering to do anything else than fall asleep - before his brain registered that the cruiser was still in the driveway. Daryl could see the boot through the window, peeking out from behind the corner of the house. 

_ Well, Rick wasn’t at work, then. _

Daryl had contemplated it briefly, somewhere between the kitchen and the living room - sometimes, even on his days off, Rick would get a call from the station and he would go there for a few hours. Mostly to save someone’s ass and take their shift for them, the selfless bastard that he was.

Shaking his head fondly, still hearing the music playing outside, Daryl wandered to the backdoor. 

It was a good thing that he had years of hunting behind him, otherwise, he might have let out a very loud and inappropriate snort as soon as he had opened the door. 

The driveway stretched right next to the house, going partly around it and ending at the back, where a small garden was. It was filled with Rick’s rose bushes and tomato plants, something that kept Rick occupied on lazy Saturdays. It was a nice garden, too, bracketed by a high, chain link fence, with a large forest looming in the distance. Daryl wouldn’t be surprised if Rick decided he had enough of his nightmares or insomnia, and had gone in here to let his flowery hobby run wild. He loved to sit here so much that Daryl had started to call him a farmer. 

But Rick wasn’t anywhere near his precious flowers. In fact, he was a lot closer - right in front of Daryl, both hands on his cruiser, positively  _ bouncing _ to the music. He had his favorite white t-shirt on and a pair of light-colored, faded jeans.  His curls were wild - a spectacular bedhead that formed a very enticing halo and swung with his jerky movements. 

Daryl just stood there, blinking like a demented owl, taking in the picture.

Rick had their portable stereo set on the back porch, the music pouring out of the speakers, and Daryl recognized the fast beat of it. He didn’t know the name of the song, but he knew the lyrics. 

_ Got me lifted, driftin' higher than the ceiling… _

Daryl stood there, entranced, watching as Rick thrust his hips forward to the rhythm, his hands busy with a sponge. He soaped up the hood of the cruiser - large swipes that were so in tune with the music that Daryl had no doubt Rick was in another headspace.  Every time Rick turned to the side to get some more water from one of the buckets standing on the ground, he would do so with a flourish, pushing his moving ass back a bit, right into Daryl’s view. 

_ Sugar, how you get so fly? _

Daryl decided that it would be a shame to interrupt, so he quietly closed the door behind him and moved to the side of the porch. He sat down in one of the chairs they kept there - it was low, close enough to the floor that Daryl was almost completely hidden behind the railing. He looked around, spotting a pack of cigarettes and a lighter lying on the windowsill. Taking one out, Daryl lit it and turned his eyes back to Rick. 

The music changed, another song came on just as Rick was getting ready to soap up the side of the cruiser, and he paused for a moment. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out the beat, before he started to move again, slow at first, a bit faster as the song went on. This one was so very fitting Rick’s current situation, Daryl had to stop himself from snorting. It was ridiculously ironic. 

_ Guess who's back, back again… _

Yeah, Rick was apparently back. With his better mood, relaxed and cheerful…  _ happy _ at last. Lori, the separation, the papers… It had all done a number on Rick, and Daryl had been worried that he wouldn’t come back from it all. There was only that much a man could stand when it came to people dancing salsa all over his heart. But thankfully, it looked like that old Rick, the one Daryl had been friends with for a small eternity, was coming back slowly. 

Rick swung his hips left and right, his knees bending rhythmically - he looked like the world’s funniest DJ on acid. His hands were making small circles on the body of the car, giving Daryl a very nice view of Rick’s arms. Sure, they weren’t as muscular as his own - Rick hadn’t been handling a heavy crossbow for half of his life, after all. But they were still shapely, lean muscles cording and expanding as he swiped his arm left, then right. 

_ I just settled all my lawsuits, "Fuck you, Debbie!" _

Daryl smirked, hearing the lyrics. Then he took a long drag of his cigarette, eyes focused on Rick. The man did a half-spin, then walked backwards, his steps just slightly off-beat. Once he got to the front of the cruiser, he twisted his hips clockwise, then the other way around. The motion went on and ended in a pirouette, one which Rick finished with a classical  _ Travolta stance, _ one soapy hand placed on his hip, the other shooting high into the air. He cocked his hips to the side a few times, swaying them hard, before he turned again and did the most adorable chicken-dance Daryl had ever seen.

After Rick disappeared behind the other side of the cruiser, looking like a gigantic cock -  _ an animal, not a dick _ \- Daryl was left with his cigarette, the music, and a shaded image of Rick’s curly head peeking out at him from behind two sets of car windows. Daryl let himself snort then, shaking his head fondly again.  _ Rick was impossible. _

Impossible, but so sexy, even when he was being a right dork… And he had a sense of rhythm. 

_ But no matter how many fish in the sea, it will be so empty without me! _

Daryl could certainly agree.  Good  _ god, _ how could Lori ever get mad at someone so precious? Not to mention actually  _ cheating on him? _ Daryl could definitely file her away as a nutcase. He was never gonna let this man go as long as he lived. Rick was just too damn good with his rose bushes, his burned lasagnas, and his chicken-dance. 

Another song came on, a tantalizing, heavy melody wrapping around Daryl like hot chocolate.  He almost choked down on his saliva when he heard the lyrics. 

_ The way you shake it, I can't believe it, I ain't never seen an ass like that… _

Jesus…  _ yeah, _ he had never seen an ass like Rick’s, true. But why would anyone make a song about it? Shaking his head to clear it of a few very dirty images, Daryl took another drag of his cigarette. It was a good thing he made it quick and the cancer stick was away from his mouth after a few seconds. 

He would have inhaled it whole, otherwise. 

Rick sauntered - fucking  _ sauntered - _ from behind the cruiser, hands up, body twisting like a snake, hips swaying left and right. Every step brought on a new pulse of movement, and the way Rick placed his legs made his ass do little half-turns that had no right to look as sensual as they did. Rick didn’t have a big ass… it was beautiful,  _ granted, _ but covered in faded, time-softened, stretched-out denim, it was almost hard to notice. Nevertheless, Rick still shook it provocatively, walking around the cruiser, his posture full of confidence. Daryl couldn’t stop watching him, feeling his own throat go dry at the sight. 

_ I am not resisting arrest, I am agreeing, Mr. Officer! I'm already on my knees! _

Oh yes, he would definitely fall to his knees in worship. _Only for Rick, though._ Especially when he was dancing like this, a sinful mix of cockiness and charm, relaxing and letting it go for the first time in forever. 

Rick meandered closer - his whole body flowing like a damn river between mountains - and came to a stop right next to the hood of the cruiser again. He bowed in half, and - still deep in the music - stroke a very provocative pose. Daryl briefly regretted not having a camera with him, because that head-down-ass-up setting was good enough for a jerk-off material for  _ months.  _ Before Daryl could start contemplating doing just  _ that _ , feeling a decided interest in his idiotic, squirrel boxers, Rick straightened right up and grabbed one of the buckets standing nearby. He turned, so that he was facing the car, and in one perfectly-timed swing, emptied the contents on the roof. 

Water splashed to the sides and some of it landed on Rick, startling him and making him jump back. He stood there for a second, his song-induced trance broken, but thankfully, he recovered quickly. Soon, Daryl had a very wet, very in-tune Rick going at it again, twitching with the rhythm and looking too hot to handle. Daryl could definitely feel his cock becoming more and more interested in the picture before him. The t-shirt Rick was wearing was almost transparent when it got wet, and, as Rick swirled around, Daryl could see every contour of his chest. There was also a very suggestive dark spot just next to Rick’s zipper… Daryl was aware that it was only water, but he vowed to himself to change it, soon. 

The song changed again, and immediately, a strong beat filled the morning air around them. It was fast and it made Rick practically jump in place. He set the empty bucket down and skipped - fucking _skipped -_ behind the car again. Daryl watched as he disappeared for a moment, before he returned, dragging their garden hose with him. 

Rick opened the valve, and water flew out of the nozzle in a gentle rain of tiny droplets. He started to messily wash down the car with it. Rick also went back to moving his hips again - that decided jerking that put his whole body in motion - and Daryl couldn’t help himself any longer. He stood up and walked to Rick, quietly admiring his swinging hips and shuffling legs, until he was standing about two feet behind Rick. Daryl grinned when he heard the lyrics.

_ I threw your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs! I don’t care, I love it! _

And then, Rick was turning around, eyes closed, hose raised high above his head. He swirled in place and misted rain all over Daryl and himself, his voice stupidly high and off-key when he shouted the lyrics out.    
“I don’t care! I love it!” He added a little twist and a jump, and Daryl thought about how Sophia had one time compared Rick to a unicorn.  _ She might have been right. _

“I don’t care!” Rick sang again and suddenly, he froze, eyes snapping open. Daryl was directly in front of him, eyes narrowed and a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, and Rick had never felt more idiotic in his life. 

“Daryl,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks growing hot, before he dropped his gaze to the ground.

Or there’s where it would go, had it not paused on Daryl’s crotch. 

Rick jerked his head back up, eyes wide. Daryl just shook his head, eyes sparkling happily, and stepped closer.    
“I love it,” Daryl sang along, and backed Rick up against the cruiser. Rick didn’t have too much time to process this, before he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

When he felt Daryl’s hard length pressing into his own hip through layers of clothes, he finally tore his mouth away.    
“Not here,” Rick growled. Daryl snickered and raised his eyebrows, as if he wanted to question Rick’s modesty.  _ He had just finished dancing like an electrocuted octopus for the past half an hour, after all. _

Thankfully, Daryl’s  _ no-sharing-available _ feature must have been on, because he hoisted Rick into his arms. Rick wrapped his legs around Daryl’s waist with a surprised squeak, and let himself be carried inside for some post-divorce celebration. 


End file.
